


It's Not You

by thefauxgiraffe



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Breathplay, Dark!Hamid, Dark!Sasha, F/M, Knifeplay, Light Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-16
Updated: 2020-06-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24757321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefauxgiraffe/pseuds/thefauxgiraffe
Summary: Hamid catches Sasha snooping around in his rooms and never does find out what she wants.
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Sasha Racket, Sasha/Knife
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	It's Not You

Sasha is pinned against the wall, her own knife against her throat. The blade is _just_ touching the skin and any movement on her part will let it find purchase. She knows just how sharp it is. She sharpened it herself not even an hour past. If she had known where she would end up, maybe she would not have done quite so thorough a job. But then again, maybe she would have, because the uncertainty of the moment, the thrill of danger is just enough to leave her anticipatory. With great care taken to seem nonchalant, she casts her gaze across the room at her captor.

Across the room, Hamid is focused entirely on the knife and holding its position just shy of breaking skin. “Do be a dear and keep your breath ever so even and calm. I don’t think either of us want a homicide tonight, do we?” The corner of his lip quirks upward with amusement. “Now tell me again, why is it that you were in my rooms? Please try to be a trifle more honest this time. I’m afraid I didn’t find your prior explanation very believable if I’m being honest.” The knife moves just a fraction closer to Sasha’s skin. It does not really cut, but there is a fine nick that is just deep enough to draw a single drop of blood.

“I told you, love, it isn’t anything personal at all. It’s just the job.” At the drop of blood, there is a moment of concern that crosses her face, but she schools it away quickly enough. “Now, now. No need to play that rough.” The position of the blood means that she does have to keep her breathing and her speech steady and even. No gasping for air. No long phrases that require a lot more breathing. “Can’t you trust me?” Pause for a breath. “Trust that I’d never do anything to actually hurt you?” She keeps her eyes on him, barely blinking.

Hamid walks slowly, almost as if he were taking a casual stroll across the floor. He is incredibly careful to not get within arm’s reach of the woman. “No. No, I cannot trust you to have my interests at heart. I cannot trust you at all, Sasha.” His eyes linger on her slender form, then roam up to watch the ruby jewel of blood trickle across pale skin. With a moment of concentration, the knife is in his hand and the Mage Hand he had used to hold the knife is wrapped around Sasha’s throat. Pressing. Tight. The knife is held in a position to throw quickly if needed. “Think about what you’d do if our positions were reversed.”

What would she do if the situation were reversed? Sasha closes her eyes and imagines Hamid pressed against the wall, knife poised at an angle to thrust up and under the ribcage, his breathing severely limited, forcing him to measure every breath, every moment of life he may or may not have left. Thinking about it that way only heightens the excitement she had felt when the knife first touched her throat. “If I were you, I’d get closer.” Slow and deliberate breath. “I’d want my hands on you, nothing so impersonal as this. I’d want to feel how rapid your heart is even as you breathe so slow.” But she isn’t thinking of sex at all. That isn’t why she would want to be closer.

He steps a little closer. “You mean the way your heart is right now?” A little closer and as he moves, the grip tightens on her throat. “Even as you struggle, even as you feel the burn of your need for oxygen, your poor heart beats faster and faster, trying desperately to help you, to keep you alive.” Another step closer. He’s close enough to touch her with the knife now and runs the blade across the fabric of her shirt, letting it fall into two pieces. He does not hesitate, just barely running the point of the blade from her stomach up to her chest. The tip just barely grazes her skin. “Do you want to stay alive?”

She gulps for air as the pressure tightens on her throat. The touch of her own blade on her skin is a thrill she had not expected, and she must fight to keep control of her body, to repress the shiver of pure excitement. “Yes.” That is her only answer to Hamid. Yes, she wants to stay alive. Yes, she means the way her heart is thumping inside of her chest. And yes, her body is struggling, trying desperately to keep her alive. She could probably touch Hamid now if she tried. There is a part of her that wants to touch him, to end this. But there is another part of her that wants to see where this goes and that is the part that wins.

“Goose bumps.” He is close enough now to lean in and lick the drop of blood from her throat, leaving just a bare streak of red across pale skin. He drops the knife back to her stomach, stopping just shy of the waistband of her pants and the hand closes even tighter on her windpipe. “What do you want, Sasha? Do you want my secrets, or do you want something rather more…personal?” A slight movement and the top button on her pants is released. “I’m open to negotiations.” The second button is removed.

With every breath, it is a struggle not only to live but to fight giving in. Giving in to her desires, yes, but not giving in to Hamid. That isn’t her temptation. Her skin flushes crimson as she realizes just what it is that she wants, and she does not want to say it. Sasha holds herself back and says nothing, anticipating what his reaction will be to her silence.

Another button removed and another step closer. He can see the way her skin is suffused with pink and the way her whole body has gone tense. Hamid removes the final button with the knife, letting her pants slide downwards into a puddle at her feet. He brings the tip of the knife up her thigh from the knee to her hip, tracing lazy swirls across her skin. “You’re going to have to tell me what you want, Sasha. I can’t read your mind.” He presses the blade hard enough that it is almost enough to draw a line of blood on her thigh. “Beg me for what you want.”

She cannot beg him. She cannot give in. But she wants to give in, and he knows it. But he isn’t sure just what it is that she’s wanting and what is tempting her to give in and she knows that. Sasha can feel herself starting to go just the slightest bit lightheaded. She is going to have to give in. It does not matter what she wants or does not want at this moment. The question she keeps turning over in her mind is why she is holding out on this. She does not want Hamid, but there is something here she wants. He wants her. Is it just pride that keeps her from begging or is it something more?

He does not add additional pressure to her throat, but he does move the grip on the knife, holding the blade in his gloved hand. He uses one arm to press her thighs just far enough apart to let his hand slide up the inside of one thigh, the blade of the knife trailing behind it. “Come now, Sasha. Are you so prideful as this? Beg me and you’ll get what you want.” His hand rests just at the top of her thigh, the leather of his glove cool on her skin, the handle of the knife just barely touching the dark curls of her pubic hair.

This scenario isn’t what she normally wants. It is not even something she thinks about really. And it is not Hamid. It is not the choking. Those are the things that are helping her to keep any clarity of thought. It is the knife. But how can she convey that to Hamid? Is there a polite way to say, ‘It isn’t you, it’s the knife, can you leave us alone for about ten minutes?’ She can’t really say that. So, she says nothing, lest Hamid get the wrong idea.

Hamid holds the hilt of the knife in the same position, just waiting for Sasha to beg him. He knows that she is excited. He waits for her to give in. When after a few moments, she doesn’t beg, she doesn’t give in, he lowers the knife and drops it to the floor. He turns with his back to her. “I’m sorry if I misread what you wanted here. Please just…just leave. I’m dreadfully sorry.” His expression as he turns makes it clear that he takes this as rejection.

The hard part is that it **is** rejection. Sasha jury rigs her pants closed and back up before she picks up her knife. She holds it in her hand and runs a finger along the lines of the blade, around the curves of the hilt the way some people touch a lover. But it isn’t a sexual thing and it is at the same time. There is profound longing on the rogue’s face as she finally sheathes the blade. There is a promise made mentally as she does, ‘Soon, love. Soon.’ The promise is to the blade, the closest thing to a lover, partner, spouse that she’ll ever know or want to know. And with that done, she turns and leaves Hamid’s room without saying a word out loud.


End file.
